


Pick Your Poison

by DeadlyKittenKay (PrettyBlueIz)



Series: Promptober 2017 [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Foul Language, M/M, Minor Castiel/Meg Masters, Minor Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, mention of Castiel's true form
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 23:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12263940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyBlueIz/pseuds/DeadlyKittenKay
Summary: Dean is offered a choice. One that shows him what he could have had and what can have. Which one will he choose?





	Pick Your Poison

Dean sat at the dark mahogany stained bar. It was surprising to Dean how clean the bar itself felt. He was used to the ones that had that residue where you weren't quite sure what was there before and you were almost completely sure that you didn't want to know but by drink four or five, you didn't care as much.   
  
The place also had a high brow feel to it. There were booths with high-backed seat, which Dean suspected had been upholstered in velvet. Private chandlers over each of them to give an intimate lighting. There were other tables on the main floor. The all had those red candle pieces that you would find at some swanky Italian restaurants. Dark wood flooring without a spec of peanut shell on it.  
  
Definitely not Dean's usual place.   
  
He looks at the wall in front of him. Rows of every bottle of liquor you could imagine were placed upon the glass shelves. The mirror behind it reflects back how tired Dean truly feels. It's jarring, to be honest.  
  
Two tumblers are placed in front of him. Dainty looking fingers slide back from the glass.   
  
“Pick your poison,” the owner of the hands says to him. Her voice is sultry and reminiscent of his lost friend Pam, but she looks nothing like Pam. The only similarity is the dark shoulder-length hair and smirk plastered on her face. Her lips, stained red, most likely to entice the patrons for tips, have the opposite effect. Her eyes are a striking blue that is enhanced by the smokey eye makeup.   
  
In another life, Dean would have laid out his best lines and had her in bed by the end of the night.  
  
“Pick your poison,” she repeats, snapping Dean's focus back to the two glasses.  
  
In one glass, holds at least three fingers of a clear liquid. Possibly vodka. The second one holds the same amount of liquid only more of an amber color. Whiskey, Dean is sure of.  
  
“What is this? The Matrix? One takes me into the matrix the other has me waking up with a wicked hangover?” Dean jokes.  
  
The bartender shrugs, “It's whatever you want it to be, sweet cheeks. I'm just giving you the choice.”  
  
“What if I wanted a beer?” Dean asks.  
  
She shakes her head. “We don't have that here and you wouldn't be here if you did.”  
  
Dean doesn't know what to make of that but reaches for the clear glass. “Cheers,” he mutters before knocking it back completely.   
  
Dean's first thought is how very wrong he was. It's was most definitely not Vodka but silver Tequila and he swore that off years ago. He can feel it burn worse than even the cheapest whiskey and wants to ask for some water just to get the taste out, but again, Dean Winchester has a reputation to uphold and sets the glass down forcefully.  
  
“Jesus, lady. Warn a guy when you give him tequila.”   
  
He thinks he hears the bartender laugh, but it sounds distant and his vision blurs around the edges. He vaguely wonders if he was roofied.

* * *

  
“Dean!” A shout jolts him. Something falls from his chest and realizes he's stretched out on a couch. He looks over to where the shout came from to see a very angry looking Lisa glaring at him with her hands on her hips.  
  
“Lisa?” his voice thick with sleep.   
  
“Who else would it be, Dean?” Her tone is exasperated. “You didn't come to the appointment. I thought you wanted to know the sex?”  
  
“The sex?” Dean sits himself up, the motion making his head pound as memories start to flood his brain. Meeting Lisa at the diner. Taking her back to her place since his dad was on a hunt. Finding out how bendy she really was as a yoga instructor.  
  
“Yes, Dean. The sex. Of your baby.” She talks in short sentences as if he was slow.   
  
“Baby?” he asks again and suddenly he remembers. He was on a hunt with his dad, they were hunting another windigo when she had called him. She told him she was pregnant and didn't need him but felt he should know. He had his dad leave him with her swearing he would do things right by his child.  
  
Lisa groans and sits in the armchair by him. It's then that he notices the slight swell of her stomach.  
  
“Dean, why are you even here? I get that you want to be in your child's life and I would never deny that of you, but we really don't need to get married. You obviously don't love me.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Dean, your proposal was, 'it's gonna be a Winchester, might as well do it right beforehand'.”  
  
“Wow...” he felt like a douche.   
  
“It's a boy. If you care.” she pushed her self up. “Can you please go to the store now?”  
  
Dean nods and goes to grab his keys only to realize that he doesn't own a car. “Uh, Lis...”  
  
She sighs again and hands him her keys and a list. “Are you having those headaches again?” she asks, the concern clear in her brown eyes.  
  
“Uh, yeah. I must have dozed off and slept right through the appointment. Sorry,” he explains lamely before kissing her cheek and letting himself out the door.   
  
As if not knowing what the hell he was doing was bad enough, he had to drive to a store he's never been to in a town he doesn't know in a freaking station wagon!   
  
He's in such a foul mood that by the time he gets to the store, he's irritated and just wants to know what the hell is going on.  
  
Sitting in the car, he reaches for his phone to call Sam. Surely, Sam would know what was going on. Only the numbers that he knows for Sam are either not in service or disconnected. Dean glares at the phone as if it has personally offended when he notices that there's a voicemail. He dials it hoping that it's Sam or even...Crap he thinks trying to think of who else would have an answer as to why he feels as if he's been placed into bizarro world.  
  
“Dean, honey. It's Kate. John has a few of your baby things that survived the fire and asked me to send them to you. Just let me know what address and I'll ship them over. Give Lisa our love and we'll see you at Christmas.”  
  
The fuck? Dean stares at his phone. Who the hell is Kate and how does she know his father? Dean can't wrap around his life at the moment and goes into the store to get the crap Lisa wants.  
  
He had almost made it unscathed but of course, fate had a funny way of fucking with him. As he was checking out he literally ran into the man who was standing a little too close to him.  
  
“Dude! Personal space.”  
  
The man, who Dean notices, startles at Dean's barking tone. “My apologies,” the man's deep voice rumbled as he takes a step back. There's something familiar about the way the tan trench coat hangs off him. The deep blue eyes that stare back at him and even the crazy hair.   
  
“Can I help you?” He asks.   
  
“I.. uh. Do I know you?” Dean asks dumbly.  
  
The man chuckles and shakes his head. “I don't believe so. My wife and I are new to town.” Just then a smaller woman with a heart-shaped face, dark wavy hair and clad in tight black jeans and a leather jacket makes her presence known.  
  
“Clarence, stop flirting with green eyes over here. You might make me jealous.”  
  
The man, Clarence tinges pink but smiles fondly at the woman. “Don't be ridiculous, Meg.”  
  
“Sir,” the clerk snaps making Dean jump slightly. “Fifty-three fourty-two is your total.”  
  
“Right,” Dean gives a nervous laugh and pulls out his wallet. “Right, sorry.” He trusts fifty-five dollars at the clerk and grabs his things, not bothering for change.  
  
Now he lays in bed, staring at the ceiling as Lisa's small frame wraps around him. He can't seem to get Clarence out of his mind. As if there's a lingering memory or something that he should know but it hurts to think about.   
  


* * *

  
“You're back,” the sultry voice says and Dean startles. Fuck, he's been doing that too much lately.  
  
“What the fuck was that?” He demands.  
  
The Bartender shrugs. “The road less traveled?”  
  
“No seriously. Was it a dream?”  
  
“A desire maybe?” She offers.  
  
“What the hell kind of desire was that?”  
  
“I believe you call it the “apple pie life”, Dean.” She slides the other glass to him. “Want to see what your other choice would have given you?”  
  
Dean looks at the amber liquid. He hates that his brain forgot things, things he knew was important, people who were important. But a life with Lisa? That wasn't what he wanted. That's not what he'd wanted his life to end up as.   
  
“Down the hatch,” he salutes with the glass before gulping the contents down. The familiar burn soothes him. Whiskey is definitely a welcomed friend. Only this time, the effects don't hit him like the last one.   
  
He looks at the bartender. “Why isn't anything happening?”  
  
She shrugs and points to a door. There is light seen from around all the seams. It's a familiar glow that makes his heart race and his skin heat up. He climbs off the bar stool and heads towards the door, before turning to look at the bartender again.  
  
“Is this a dream?” He asks her.   
  
“You tell me, sugar. You always dream about empty bars and choices?”  
  
“Choices?” he asks.  
  
She nods again. “Look at it this way, Dean. You have a choice. Do things the way you have, continue to hide or accept it as it comes.”  
  
He opens his mouth to ask her to clarify but she only points to the door. The same door which was once closed slams open and the light blind him.

* * *

  
“It's not working!”  
  
“I know, Sam!” a voice growls.   
  
“Are you using all of your grace?!” Sam's voice is panicked.   
  
“As much as I can without injuring myself. Didn't I tell you two, not to confront Lucifer alone?”  
  
“Uh, have you met my brother?” Sam sasses.  
  
“Try true loves kiss,” a feminine Scottish accent offers as a joke.  
  
“Really, Rowena? I don't see how that will help.”  
  
“Well, Samuel, Dean does look like a Disney princess and right now he's doing a fabulous adaptation of sleeping beauty.”  
  
“Mother...” another Scottish voice warns.  
  
“Oh, Fergus! You're no fun!”  
  
“ENOUGH!” The booming voice makes Dean flinch and it doesn't go unnoticed. “Dean?”  
  
“I'm here, Cas.”  
  
“Oh thank God,” Sam sounds relieved.  
  
“Oh goody. Squirrel is alive. Let's go, mother.”  
  
“Sammy?” Dean still hasn't opened his eyes but he can tell his brother has moved closer. “Can you give me and Cas a moment?”  
  
“Sure.” Dean listens to his retreating steps and the sounds around him. Their failed attempt to get Lucifer comes back to him. They had just gotten Cas back again and since Dean couldn't take his revenge out on the literal spawn of Satan, he wanted to get the source.   
  
“We're alone, Dean.” Cas' voice was soft, barely a whisper.   
  
“Good.” Dean lets a heavy sigh. “I saw you.” He waits for Cas to respond but he doesn't. “When you were trying to heal me...”  
  
“I was trying to bring you back, Dean. You were on the brink of death. I could hear the reaper that was trying to collect you.”  
  
“But I saw you.” Dean opens his eyes and stares at the blue eyes of Castiel's vessel. “I saw you.”  
  
Cas' eyes widen. “How?”  
  
“When I went through the door. In the light. Your grace, it was like a warm blanket on a cold winter night, but I saw you there. You once told me that you had three faces and... and your wings. Jesus, Cas. Your wings were as black as my baby but the shimmers of blue like your eyes.” Dean reaches up and cups Castiel's face in his hand.  
  
“Dean.” His name sounds as if Cas is saying a prayer.  
  
“If I ever had to choose a life, either the normal apple pie one or the one with you. I choose you.”  
  
“Then stop getting yourself killed, Dean Winchester.”   
  
Dean can't help the laugh that bubbles out. His hand slides to the back of Castiel's neck and pulls him closer. “I'll try harder, Cas,” he promises before their lips press together for the first of many times. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was for the prompt: Poison


End file.
